


unfinished business

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Horror, POV Joker (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Only the dead have seen the end of war.
Comments: 77
Kudos: 255





	unfinished business

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea and immediately had to write it.

The worst thing about Arkham is the _boredom_.

Three walls, one set of bars, a cot and a sink and an ugly orange jumpsuit – so tacky, they should add some green, or maybe some _red_ – and he loves the way the laughter echoes off the walls – _HA ha HA ha HA_ – but sometimes it is just so achingly, mind-numbingly _dull_.

Harls isn’t here, she escaped a couple months ago, and he’s heard enough to know she ran straight back to that plant bitch. Joker’s gonna have to end that little thing once and for all, but right now, it’s funny to see her turn _green_ when dear, darling Harley skips right back to his side.

But Arkham’s straightened itself up after that last jailbreak, and while he enjoys seeing which guard will let something slip first – a family, kids, money troubles, oh, a human body has a million weaknesses and he’s learnt every last one – the security remains impassable.

For now.

Like holding water in a sieve, no matter how hard you try to plug the holes, there’ll always be a leak.

Like the hissing, spitting, sparking thing in the corner of his cell. Magic. Looks like dear old Bats didn’t think to guard against some good old-fashioned hocus pocus.

Joker sits up. Magic’s a rare thing in Gotham – Batsy’s chased them all out. And Gotham has its pride! They don’t just let any run-of-the-mill two-bit hack join the Rogues Gallery, nooo. You gotta make it on your own hard work. Strength of your back, fire of your flamethrowers, a nice, long crowbar.

Magic? Pssh. Magic’s for weaklings. The kids that can’t cut it in Gotham. Magic’s for the rest of the world, and Gotham’s just blood, sweat, and tears.

Well.

Mainly blood, by this point.

But it doesn’t matter – he can defend his city’s honor some other time. Magic may be a disappointment, but it certainly is _interesting_ , and Joker watches as a figure stumbles out of the portal.

Black robes. How _quaint_. And a hood over its head. It catches sight of him and freezes in place, like a trembling lamb.

Joker _smiles_.

The magic sparks again, and the portal disappears. Now it’s just J and this curiosity, all alone in his cell.

The hood is slowly tugged down. Oh, but this one’s got a flair for the dramatic! Very nice, quintessential Gotham, he – it’s a boy, a _teenager_ – might make the cut after all. They should hold auditions, and invite all the Bats!

“A visitor!” Joker proclaims, “All for _me_? Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

Hard jaw. Flashing green eyes. A face that seems…familiar.

“What can I do for you today, kiddo?” Joker widens his eyes, “Come on, tell Uncle J all your troubles!”

Tell him everything that makes you tick, kiddo, all the bits and pieces, until he can shove his hand into the gears and grind it all to a halt.

The kid just stares at him. The familiarity is _killing_ him, there’s a name on the tip of his tongue and he can’t quite get it to come out.

“Strong and silent type, huh?” Joker laughs, and laughs _harder_ when he sees the kid flinch. “I always did like guessing games!” He taps a finger on his chin, mock thoughtful, “Hmm, let me think – you’re here to break ole Uncle J out from his unjust incarceration!”

“No,” the kid answers in a voice that sounds like he gargled gravel. Sheesh. Even the Bat himself sounds better than _that_. “I’m here to break you.”

Joker snorts and chuckles and finally throws his head back to _laugh_. It reverberates in the cell and down the corridor, and he can hear the groans and curses in the distance.

They can’t gag him, it’s too _inhumane_ , and they can’t stop him. Story of his life, actually.

But this kid – he _likes_ this kid. He’s got the dialogue down. He just needs to lose the robes, add some pizzazz, pick out a cool name. Joker’s more than happy to show him the ropes.

“And why’s that, little lamb chop?” Joker asks – his smile widens when he sees the kid flinch again. Sensitive little thing. He’s pressed himself against the wall. He’s _scared_ of him.

Joker likes that.

Joker wants to see him _terrified_.

The kid tilts his head to the side. Like a bird. “You don’t recognize me?” the kid asks.

So, _so_ familiar. He’s almost got it. He wishes Harley was here, she’s got a better head for faces and names.

The kid’s eyes narrow, and the scowl’s what does it.

“Robin!” Joker exclaims, clapping his hands together. That’s who it is! Wow, the mask really does change a face. And the kid’s grown _up_.

Wait a minute –

“Redbird deadbird,” Joker says, because he _remembers_ this little shit. The first Wonder Boy – well, all it took was one little bullet to send him scampering away. Good boy. Leaving Batsy all to himself. The third – well, they don’t let him get close to the third. They’ve learned their lesson on that one. He wouldn’t even _know_ there was a third if Harls hadn’t told him.

But _this_ one’s supposed to be dead.

“You look _fantastic_ for a ghost, kid,” Joker tells him, “You have to give me the name of your guy. Maybe they’ll add some color to my cheeks.”

The kid smiles, and Joker wants to wipe that off his face _right now_. “I doubt it,” the kid says, “It doesn’t cure crazy.”

“Now that’s just hurtful.”

“Oh,” the kid says, stepping forward, “We’re just getting _started_.”

Joker starts laughing again. And here he’s complaining about nothing interesting. A dead bird back to life, and trapped in his comfy little cell? Well, that’s enough entertainment to last him _months_. More, if he bribes the guards.

He might not even try to escape. He might just stay here, him and his bird, and test how many times the kid can come back from death.

Joker wonders how long it’ll take the Bat to catch on.

“Are we?” Joker smiles, “Where did we leave off, kid? The dislocated shoulder? The shattered hip? You never did tell me which hurt more.”

“The bomb,” the kid says, cold and hollow, “The burns. The last breaths of smoke-choked air. _Dying_.”

Joker keeps the smile on his face. Looks like the kid holds a _grudge_. Whoops.

“Unfortunately for you,” the kid says quietly, “I came back.”

“And what a trick _that_ is, my fine feathered friend! Gonna tell Uncle J how you managed that? Don’t worry – I can keep a secret,” Joker mimes zipping his lips shut.

“No,” the kid says, and there’s something _vicious_ in his tone. “I’m going to let you try to figure that one out on your own.”

His eyes are flashing.

How int-ter-rest-ting.

“I do love a good mystery,” Joker muses.

The kid isn’t paying attention to him. The kid’s drawing some sort of fancy amulet thingy out from under his robes. Magic. Sigh. And here he thought they could resolve this _mano-a-mano_.

“You need to even the playing field?” Joker asks, gesturing to his cell, “I’m just a prisoner, birdie, whatcha you think I’m gonna do?”

“I’m not evening the playing field, Joker,” the kid says quietly, “I’m just getting all the players.”

Oooh. Looks like the Bat’s gonna show up after all. Joker likes the way this is going. One dead bird, one big Bat – what an opportunity to sow some chaos.

The shadows are already darkening, and Joker turns, ready to welcome his nemesis with a beaming smile –

The shadows are growing. Thicker and thicker. No trace of bat ears, or those vivid white eyes, or even that lovely growl.

Just darkness.

“Gotta say, kiddo, I’m not impressed,” Joker turns back, “Your magic thingamajig doesn’t seem to be working –”

There’s someone standing right behind the kid. Face a ruin, all blood and bone and nasty bits poking out. Like their face got smashed in with a crowbar.

Exposed muscles stretch into a smile.

There’s another one – dark spot right in the middle of their forehead. Another, arm lying crooked. A pair of twins with dark bruises around their throats. Another and another and another and another.

And. They’re. All. _Smiling_.

Joker doesn’t let the chill creep down his spine. “Okay, I gotta admit, you get points for theater, kiddo,” he spins in a slow circle and takes in the growing collection of shadows, each wavering into a new grinning face.

They’re dead.

They’re all dead.

_They’re all supposed to be dead_.

“But you can’t bring the dead back to life, crazier kids than you have died trying,” Joker waggles his finger, “And ghosts can’t hurt people.”

The ghosts inch closer.

“I didn’t bring them back to life,” the kid says quietly, “And they’re not ghosts.” More keep arriving every second. “They’re vengeful spirits.” Every one of them is smiling, expression frozen in a rictus of hilarity. “Do you know how many vengeful spirits shadow your every step?”

Quite a lot, if he’s going by the shadows.

“I’ve never counted, bird boy, but I’m glad to finally get the opportunity,” Joker laughs, and a hiss ripples through the crowd. “It’s always nice to take a step back and see the magnitude of your work!”

They’re smiling. Their eyes are angry, are _furious_ , but they can’t stop smiling. His mark, even in death.

“I wasn’t planning on doing it this way,” the kid says, letting the amulet hang around his neck. “I had a different idea.” He pulls out a long, thin, metal pole. “A crowbar and a bomb. Just the way we did it the first go ‘round.”

“Aww, birdie, I didn’t know you missed it so much!”

“But then it occurred to me that I was being selfish,” the kid says softly. The whole place is eerily still – silence hangs like a shroud. “That I’m not _special_.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kiddo.”

The kid looks at him with eyes of death. “I’m just the one that got to come back.”

It occurs to him that it’s a little _too_ quiet. No sighs and groans from the guards. No mutters from the other prisoners. He peeks through the bars and –

People. More people. They’re filling the whole place, not a speck of empty tile to be seen.

He can’t help the frisson running down his spine, like an electric shock. Those are always fun. To take. To administer.

“Long story short, the _magic thingamajig_ allows vengeful spirits to become corporeal,” the kid – the Robin – the dead boy says.

He’s smiling.

Joker does not like that smile.

“You want to count them all, Joker?” the dead boy laughs, “Be my fucking guest.”

Joker does not like that laugh.

“I’ll admit, I never thought you had the stones to kill, Boy Wonder,” he says. The dead press closer. “Isn’t that against the Bat code of honor? What _will_ Daddy say?”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” the dead boy says slowly, like he’s explaining something to a child, “I just wanted one good hit.”

He hefts the crowbar.

“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me,” the dead boy promises.

Joker twists as the kid lunges – if he gets his hand on that crowbar, rips that amulet off his neck, well. Then it’ll be him and a Robin in a locked room, and he can already hear the _screams_ –

Hands catch his shoulders. Nails tear into his skin. Fingers scrabble at his neck, wrapping around his throat.

The crowbar crashes into his face.

“Tell the Devil I said hello,” Robin whispers.

Then he disappears in the mass of dead bodies lurching forward.

Dead.

They’re all dead.

He’s killed each and every one of them.

He’s killed them, that’s it, game over, that’s the rules, that’s how it’s played, it’s not _fair_ –

Pain. Nails and fists and kicks, each tearing at a different part of him, each a different vendetta, each seeking payback for their own creative death.

He starts laughing.

_HA ha HA ha HA ha Ha hA Ha hA Ha Haaa HAAA Hu hAAA Haaa HuH haaa Hargh HARGH_ –

He starts screaming.

They claw the smile off his face.

He counts them. Every last one. Every second of torture. He counts them as rage and agony swirl together in his black, shriveled heart, he counts them so he knows exactly where his vengeance will go.

But they’re already dead.

But _he’s_ already dead.

* * *

“Bloody hell, did you do a cleansing ritual in here? This place was choking on fucking spirits when I sent your stubborn arse through the damn portal.”

“No, no ritual. You can have your amulet back.”

“Whoa there, lad, you look like you’re going to collapse – I told you not to wear the damn thing for that long, it’s sucked half your energy.”

“Worth it.”

“Bloody fucking kids. And why the hell did you throw a bunch of shredded liver around, you tosser, that’s disgusting.”

“It’s not shredded liver.”

“Then what the bloody hell – never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“You really don’t. Can we get out of here before the guards show up?”

“Right this way, Your Royal Highness. Trust me, I don’t want to stick around Gotham and wait for the Bat to stick his beak in. But remember you have to –”

“You’ll get your fucking money, Constantine. I got what I came here for.”

“Remind me never to piss you off. Fuck. I’m glad I’m not the one that has to clean that up.”

**Author's Note:**

> And Jason goes back to his League training and a year later, Bruce opens his door to see a dead boy accompanied by a scowling kid that looks startlingly familiar.
> 
> (me: fuck I forgot how British people speak.  
> me: *shoves some more swear words in there so no one notices*)


End file.
